Josh and Gemma Make a Baby(29)

I give her a quick look, certain she has to be joking, but she takes another puff of her cigarette and then steps into the doorway of the brightly lit room.

I stand behind her. The room is low-ceilinged, painted dark pink, and there are boxes full of comics shoved against the far wall. In the middle of the room a group of six folding chairs have been set up in a circle. Only two of the chairs are occupied.

There’s a glossy blonde-haired woman with bright blue eyes who looks elegant and poised, like she could be a model on the cover of Vogue. She’s talking in a clipped British accent to another woman who is listening to her and nodding her head intently.

The second woman has long, brown wavy hair that nearly reaches her hips and warm light brown eyes. She’s in a shirt and long skirt that look like they were hand dyed, and hemp sandals, which wow, must be cold in the winter.

Brook clears her throat loudly and both women turn to her.

“Hello, darling,” says the blonde woman.

“Brook, will you please put that out? My energy worker said that all your smoking and negative energy is blocking my chi,” says the wavy-haired woman.

Brook snorts, but she drops her cigarette to the concrete floor and steps on it.

“We’ve got another one,” Brook says. She pulls me into the room. I stumble to a stop in front of her and smile at the two women.

“Hi,” I say and give a small wave.

Brook steps up next to me. “Her name’s Gemma. She believes in never judging a book by its cover, has terrible fashion sense, and is routinely late.”

“What? I am not, I—”

“She wants to have a baby, clearly. And she’s delighted to make our acquaintance,” finishes Brook.

I give her an incredulous look. Who is this woman?

“Delighted,” says the blonde, she stands up smoothly and holds out her hand.

“This is Carly,” says Brook. “She’s a former model. Check out her nudies online.” Brook whistles and Carly gives a smile. “She married a kazillionaire and never has to work again. Unfortunately, she’s old, so her eggs suck.”

Carly shrugs and gracefully sits back in her folding chair.

I look at her and wait for her to deny any of Brook’s bio, but she just says, “That’s all true.”

“I still don’t understand why we can’t meet in your penthouse instead of this dump,” says Brook.

“Because I like this dump,” says Carly. “The pink reminds me of a uterus ripe for action.”

“You are one sick Brit,” Brook says.

The brown-haired woman covers a laugh with her hand. Then she stands and walks up to me. I smell lavender and maybe sandalwood? “I’m Hannah, it’s wonderful to meet you.”

I hold out my hand, “Gemma. Wonderful to meet you too.”

“Right. Hannah is a crunchy granola type, if you couldn’t tell. She likes almond butter, weaving her own shoes, and connecting with the energy of Mother Earth. Nobody knows why the hell she can’t get pregnant, so she spends gobs of money on weird crap like fertility crystals and magic fruit pills from the heart of the Amazon.”

Hannah rolls her eyes and sits back in her chair. “They’re legitimate supplements, Brook. And I happen to like wearing rose quartz and moonstone.” Then she looks at the expression on my face and starts to laugh. “You should sit down,” she says.

I walk to the circle and take a seat next to Hannah in one of the rusty folding chairs. Brook comes and sits across from me.

“Perfect,” says Carly, I look at her and try not to picture her naked. Why did Brook have to mention those photos? Brook grins at me like she knows what I’m trying not to think of.

“Since we’re all here, I’ll call to order the weekly meeting of the Fertility Support Group,” Carly says. “The first item on the agenda is welcoming our new member. It’s good to have you, Gemma.”

Brook unzips her bulky canvas briefcase. “No. The first item on the agenda is wine.” She pulls out two bottles of screw cap wine and a sleeve of plastic cups. “I had a helluva week. Hannah, I brought you organic pomegranate juice harvested on the light of the full moon or some crap like that. So stop looking at me all disapprovingly.”

“Wow. Thanks, that’s really nice of you,” Hannah says.

Brook opens the drinks and starts to pour. She hands Carly some white wine and Hannah a glass of juice.

“White or red?” she asks me.

“Um…red?”

She shakes her head. “You’re not on cycle right?”

“Not for three weeks.”

“Red it is.” She hands me a clear plastic glass full to the brim with fruity-smelling wine.

Brook holds up her glass. “Cheers, ladies. To old eggs, blocked tubes, and bum sperm. May bad wine, okay-ish company, and the pink uterus room lift our spirits.”

“Cheers,” Hannah says, and she knocks back her juice.

“Salut,” Carly says.

I hold up my glass and take a small sip. Maybe…maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I thought I’d be coming to a meeting of like-minded people, a supportive group of friends, but this isn’t that.

Like Ian says, tell me who you associate with and I’ll tell you who you are. Or was that Confucius? Huh.